


erotomania

by offensiveandgay



Category: Panic! at the Disco, Ryden - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 21:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19754128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/offensiveandgay/pseuds/offensiveandgay
Summary: Ryan knew he was sending messages to him and only him.He knew that though he wasn't direct,it was all for him.





	erotomania

CHAPTER ONE 

Usually, the quiet downtown library that Ryan enjoyed his weekends in was predictable.   
The librarian with the upturned nose and saggy earlobes worked until 3.   
Then her co-worker with the salt and pepper Hitler mustache takes over for her. And on alternating Sundays a young college student with an Afro meets her girlfriend for a study session. Ryan had never talked to them but he had gathered that they were together. That, or they were in denial of their feelings for one another.   
People are creatures of habit, Ryan concluded. A species prone to repeat themselves.   
But today was Monday. A day that Ryan hadn’t memorized. The only reason he was lucky enough to come in today was the painful bronchitis he told his boss he was suffering from. As a child, Ryan’s family could never afford proper medical care. The only upside to this was his spot on impression of a horrible cough, and talent for drawing. When home sick from school, he couldn’t play the newest video games or watch television, so he took to paper. At first it was still life. Then his dog, Pongo. Next graphic drawings of him brutally decapitating his father. Needless to say, he had lots of fun drawing. And on this spontaneous Monday, Ryan wanted to draw a stranger. This was not what he had in mind when he decided to skip work, though. His original intention was to play Tetris on the library computers, and maybe finish the last book in the series he was currently reading. But when he sat down and began to flip pages, he heard a slurping noise.   
Across the room and in front of the large window was a man. This man took a sip from his recyclable coffee cup and scrolled mindlessly through his phone.   
Ryan wondered what kind of coffee he had. Whether it was soy or two percent milk in his cup, if he payed a ridiculous amount just to get the name brand, and if this was an everyday thing for him. The stranger had a wide and triangular nose, reminding Ryan of an arrow which conveniently pointed towards his Cupid’s bow. His lips were large and his eyes were too. All of his comically sized features contrasted each other, yet fit like puzzle pieces.   
Ryan found himself staring. Needing to capture this never before seen combination of features, he took out his sketchbook. It was leather bound and nasty feeling. Something his father left after he passed. Ryan found it ironic that the man who told him drawing was pointless would leave him this, of all things. Still, he used it. He pulled out the subway ticket stub that he uses as a bookmark, and borrowed a stubby pencil from the tin in front of him.   
He began to draw.  
He started with his forehead, down to his eyebrows. He made sure to get his scar as accurate as possible. His unaware model stayed surprisingly still, engulfed in whatever he was looking at online. In no time, Ryan had finished sketching the juxtaposition of a boy in front of him. Should he show him? Maybe slip it on the table as he walks by? Or would this make him look like a freak? Ryan often drew customers or co-workers but that was different. He had no choice but to show them because they always saw before he could think to put the sketch away. This was a random man who decided to enjoy a drink in the solitude and privacy of the library. Ryan had invaded this. But wouldn’t he like to see it? Wouldn’t he fall head over heels for him, and ask him to draw him again? Next to the sketch Ryan wrote the time and the date and every detail about the stranger he could think of.  
For the next thirteen minutes, he watched. He didn’t start conversation or try to approach him. He just watched, trying to build a copy of him in his mind. Every mannerism or quirk he could observe, he held onto dearly, hoping it would be enough until they met again. But as the librarians switched shifts, the man stood up. He put his brown messenger bag over his shoulder, and walked towards the exit.   
Ryan’s heart sped up, adrenaline kicking in for reasons he wasn’t sure of. Think, he told himself. Still acting on a whim, he stood up as well, trying to play it cool and act as if he were leaving too. He leaned against the doorway and pretended to use his phone. The man walked through the parking lot eventually ending up at his small white car. It looked like it had gotten far more use than it should have, scratches and dents decorating the trunk.   
Ryan snapped a photo of the plate as discreetly as possible.   
The man drove off, singing queen and throwing a small piece of bread out of his window and into the grass.   
Ryan’s heart was still thumping away, even after he gathered his things and waited for the bus home. He thought about him. About his job, his hobbies. His life, and how Ryan could become a part of it.

Ryan’s spontaneous Monday led to an outstandingly ordinary Tuesday. “Tommy’s craft and tools” was just as the name states: a store for craft supplies and tools. The only customers were old men with pants up to their belly-buttons, and the poor grandchildren they drag along with them. The building was always freezing and smelled of mayonnaise mixed with industrial cleaner. The stagnant stench became so unbearable that Ryan had considered bringing in pine tree car fresheners to wear as a lanyard.   
“Glad to see you’re doing better, George,” his greasy co-worker, Brent, says to him.   
Ryan cringed at the mention of his first name. Ever since he was young he had been going by Ryan, preferring not to be associated with his father. Brent knew this. He mutters a forced “thanks,” and span back around on his stool. Ryan would much rather be in charge of taking inventory or stocking shelves, but today he was on the register. And much to his dismay, so was Brent. Due to the size of the store there were only three checkout lanes. Ryan on one, Brent on two, and Keltie on three. Ryan had sketched Keltie a few times, but drawing her never made him feel the way that stranger did. The man. Ryan wanted nothing more than to put a face to the name. This afternoon he planned on going back to the library and searching his license plate. He wasn’t sure it would bring anything, but he was desperate for any information he could get his hands on. It wasn’t often that Ryan was passionate about something. His last obsession was a strange and frankly bad CD from a garage sale. It was a local band called “Pet Salamander”. The name intrigued him. He didn’t rest until he had found every member’s address and phone number. When Ryan is interested in something, it takes over his life.   
The bell on his counter dinged, a small chubby hand on top of it. “Ding-ding!” the toddler sang.  
His mother laughed and made the noise back to him. Her eyes were big and blue, contrasting her obviously unnatural black hair. She placed a spool of rainbow ribbon and rhinestones down, and picked the boy up.   
“Thank you for shopping at Tommy’s, how’s your day going?” Ryan repeated, having said this every time anyone purchased anything. He picked up her products and swiped them over the scanner, avoiding eye contact.  
“Good, and you?” she responded on auto pilot.  
The chubby fella in her arms imitated her as best as he could, which was hardly decipherable. Ryan understood, though.  
He told her he was fine, which was fairly accurate. Usually, when someone asks you how you are they don’t want an actual answer. Ryan learned this once he went into retail. He rang her up and printed the receipt, the toddler taking it before she could. If any other age group snatched something from their mother’s hands it would be seen as rude, but because this was the stupidest of all phases of life it was okay. Ryan never wanted a baby. N-E-V-E-R. Babies were terrible at communicating, and frankly disgusting. If you don’t tend to remember your time as a baby, there must be a reason. Ryan can’t remember anything before fifteen. He must’ve been gross and useless for longer than most people.   
Ryan felt a wad of paper hit the back of his head. Unphased by Brent’s usual tricks, he ignored it and opened his sketchbook. There he was. The stranger. Ryan rested his face on his hand and stared. It wasn’t perfectly accurate, but the resemblance was impressive. He figured it was because he had such a great model.   
“Psst! Ryan!”   
He turned around at the mention of his name. Keltie waved at him and motioned down. Ryan shrugged, unsure what she was trying to tell him. He looked at his feet and saw the crumpled notebook paper. He held it up and mouthed ‘this?’ to her. Ignoring Brent’s obvious annoyance with the two, she nodded and pretended to unravel something. He took the hint and smoothed it out. 

“Ryan,   
I know you’re a busy guy and you’ve probably got some   
reading to do, but if you’re interested in grabbing a drink   
after work I’m always down. (:  
-Keltie”

Ryan wasn’t dumb. He knew Keltie was fond of him. Everyone who worked at Tommy’s knew. No matter how many times he feigned innocence and told her he was busy she would always ask again. He almost felt bad for her. Internally sighing, he looked up at her. She eagerly stared back at him. Ryan held his thumb up and smiled, hoping it was passive enough to keep her hopes down. Her face immediately lit up and her grin grew three times as big. Keltie returned the gesture. Ryan turned his chair around, knowing that she was most likely still staring at the back of his head. He had never been a romantic. In theory, he was a natural Romeo. Yet when any girl showed interest in him he never felt the same. At this point, Ryan had given up on love. He figured it was a fairytale that weak minded people convinced themselves was their reality. His parents weren’t in love, though they found this out rather quickly. No one was in love. Everyone was just convinced.   
Ryan turned his attention back to the open sketchbook before him. He wondered if his plate search would work. What would he do with the information once he had it? The search would have to wait, though. Tonight he would let Keltie down gently. She was sweet and kind, and as much as he hated to admit it, pretty. But Ryan felt nothing towards her. Aside from occasional annoyance.   
The outstandingly ordinary Tuesday afternoon, turned to an unexpected Tuesday evening. Ryan had showered and gotten dressed for the second time today. He was to meet Keltie at a bar called “The Rocket” at around 7:40. Ryan was a night person, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be outside right now. He would much rather enjoy a night of reading and playing his pretentious records on his pretentious record player. He was what you would call an old soul, or what others would call a hipster. Ryan would never admit that he fit the stereotype perfectly. He knew he was unordinary, no matter how many other people were like him.   
He had on a vest and scarf, with a paisley patterned button-up underneath. This was his go to outfit for special outings like tonight. Ryan checked the time on his pitiful iPhone 5s. Not only could he not be bothered to buy a better phone, he can’t afford to. He rarely used the thing, anyway. If he wanted to be on time he should try and catch the 7:15 bus. His father always said that on time meant ten minutes early. Of course, he was never actually early. He just said it to make Ryan feel bad about himself. He only ever talked to him to make him upset. Nonetheless, the proverb stuck with him. After slipping on a coat and stuffing his pockets with necessities, he left his apartment. Ryan rarely remembered to lock his door and tonight was no exception. Maybe deep down he wanted to be robbed. Come home to a ransacked flat. Ryan thought that could be exciting, though it never happened. Saying a mental goodbye to his home, he made his way down the rusting metal stairs. There was only around five floors in the complex, Ryan being on the third. He was thankful that the walk down to the first floor wasn’t too long, as the creaky steps made him anxious every time he used them.   
“Got a date, Ross?” Pete teased, his weight against the wall as he thumbed through a magazine.   
“Don’t you have a stove to fix?” Ryan replied. He stopped to re-tie his shoe. Pete was the last person he would want to trip in front of. Though he was only a repair man, he had a smug aura that made everyone feel judged no matter what you did. Even after knowing him for almost two years Ryan was still scared of him.  
Pete scoffed and closed the magazine, holding his place with his finger. “Don’t get too cocky, or I’ll break your air conditioning.”   
He forced a laugh, though he knew Pete was only half joking.   
Next stop: The Rocket. 

Thankfully, the public transit ride was not as long as predicted. Though this was good, as he didn’t have to endure too many strangers, he was incredibly early. Alone and cold, he sat down at the bar. The Rocket wasn’t Ryan’s usual scene. The walls were exposed brick (covered in graffiti) and the floor was buried under solo cups and confetti. He assumed that it was originally a warehouse but some hipster decided to turn it into a nightclub, and from the looks of the people inside and the music he was right.   
“Ryan!”  
Without any chance to react, Keltie had pulled him into a hug from behind, almost ripping him from his seat. Ryan already had trouble handling her excessive energy at work. Tonight would truly test him.   
“I wanted to be the first one here but you beat me to it...” She laughed and took the stool next to him. She had a banana clip in her hair and blush on her cheeks and her outfit resembled something out of a 2000s teen magazine. “How long have you been sitting here?”   
Ryan shrugged. “Five minutes or so?”   
“Oh good! I’d hate to keep you waiting.” Keltie flashed a smile. She was sweet. Too innocent for Ryan’s taste. If the world has shown you reasons to be sweet then you’ve lived a sheltered life.   
“What do you think of the live musicians? Fancy, right?”  
Fancy was the last word Ryan would use to describe the people that were performing. They weren’t bad. They weren’t good, thought. Ryan shrugged. “Not my taste.”   
Keltie giggled and shrugged back. “My friend is going on tonight! Isn’t that exciting?”  
“Definitely.” He exaggerated, once again not matching her enthusiasm. He was sickened by Keltie’s wonder at everything. He could hand her an empty solo cup and she’d love it like a diamond ring. Maybe this painful disdain came from a place of jealousy. Or maybe she was just annoying. Ryan preferred not thinking too deeply when he didn’t have to, so, he was in favor of the second option.   
“Do you want to dance?”   
Ryan hated to dance. “I’ve got two left feet.”   
Keltie scoffed. “I doubt that.” She hopped from her seat and took his hand, dragging him out into the sea of people. “Everyone can dance! And if you really are a klutz, everyone dances better drunk.”   
Drinking. Ryan suddenly regretted coming here.   
“Oh my god! Ry, look who! “She cheered, jumping up and down in an attempt to see over the crowd.   
How did she expect him to see whoever was on stage? People at The Rocket were either freakishly tall or very into disco shoes. Either way, Ryan couldn’t see a thing but Keltie. He felt bodies slamming into him from every angle, no matter how much he tried to stay out of the way. People cheered, people danced, people laughed. Ryan had been engulfed in a sea of strangers, each one more intoxicated and unpredictable than the last. He felt his hands begin to get moist. His hair started to mat to his forehead. The body heat from grinding and shaking managed to reach Ryan, though he was now frozen still. And no matter how hard he tried to just breathe, his lungs were flooded with the tears he wouldn’t let leave. Keltie seemed unaffected. If anything, the chaos made her calm. Her eyes were closed. She had her hands in the air and she was jumping and beaming like a child. Ryan felt it coming on. He should’ve known better than to come here tonight. It smelled like his father. The tight space wasn’t helping, either. It reminded him of the times he would spend the night in the closet, but this time the push brooms were people. People he couldn’t push back.   
Suddenly everything became slow.   
Ryan heard a voice.   
A voice like none other. It was smooth, and reassuring, and it came from the stage.   
With the world still paused, Ryan looked up.   
“Oh god.” His voice trembled.   
This must’ve finally gotten Keltie’s attention. She called out to him during a pause in the performer’s introduction.   
“Thank you everyone for coming out. I know we were supposed to play later, but Z is puking backstage so we took her spot. Hooray for beer!” The man on stage laughed, earning shouts from the audience. “Sit back, relax, and drink responsibly. We are Red Operator!”   
Ryan stared in awe. This was no longer an outstandingly ordinary Tuesday. This was a miracle. This was, indeed, a truly blessed Tuesday.   
“Hey! Ryan!” Keltie shouted over the song’s beginning. She waved her hands in his face, trying to snap him out of the trance. “You okay, bud?”  
“Who is on that stage?” Ryan shouted.   
“My friend, why?”  
“His name. What is his name?”  
“Brendon.” Keltie informed. “Why? Do you know each other?”  
“Excuse me,” Ryan pushed past her and through the mob, finding refuge in the men’s restroom. He closed the stall door and leaned against it. He was incredibly out of breath due to being incredibly out of shape. Even the Rocket’s bathroom screamed hipster. But his location didn’t matter. All that Ryan could focus on was the incredible opportunity life had given to him. The world brought him and the man together. It brought Ryan and Brendon together. Maybe there is reason to be sweet. He couldn’t help but grin as he listened to his muted voice through the wall. Ryan had no idea what he was singing but it didn’t really matter. Nothing mattered but him.


End file.
